He looked at her hair. 'Chestnut brown.'
She blushed beautifully. 'Favourite pastime?'
'Tinkering with engines. Yours?'
'Reading.'
Zach smiled as he felt some of the tension ease out of her. 'See? Already the marriage is working.'
'What about love?'
He stilled, his heart hammering. Was she about to tell him that love was important to her? That she didn't love him? 'What about it?' he asked gruffly.
'Your mother said you always wanted to marry for love.'
'My mother talks too much. Tell me how you came to use a sword so well.'
It was an obvious change of subject but Farah let it go because for some reason talking about love bothered her as much as it seemed to bother him. 'How is your arm?' she asked. 'I noticed this morning it still had a mark. I'm sorry I sliced you.'
'It was more of a nick, but I'm sorry I underestimated you. You're very good.'
She pulled a face. 'Hardly.'
He leaned over and tapped the edge of her nose. 'It was a compliment. So, what made you learn?'
That slight, vulnerable look he'd seen before briefly crossed her face and he was almost sorry he'd asked. Then she shrugged as if it didn't matter and he knew that it did. A lot.
'When my mother and unborn brother died my father was devastated and nothing I did seemed to help. One day while I was weaving a basket to sell at the markets, I saw how much fun the boys were having and how strong they looked, sparring with each other. It made me hate being a weak girl, so I asked to join them.'
'I'm surprised your father let you.'
'He didn't know.' She gave a rueful grimace. 'For a long time he was sort of absent. But I knew how badly he had wanted a son and I wanted to impress him. So I trained hard and entered the tournament that we hold at the village once a year-and I nearly won.'
He smiled. 'I have no doubt. And was he impressed?'
Farah looked across at Zach and realised just how much she'd told him and how easy he was to talk to-something else she hadn't expected. Deciding that she might as well continue, she hugged her knees into her chest. 'Shocked is probably more the word I would use.' She pulled a rueful face, trying not to recall her father's harsh disapproval and her utter sense of hopelessness at the time. 'Sometimes it felt like nothing I did was-' She stopped, feeling more exposed than when she was lying before him naked.
'Good enough?' He filled in. 'Don't look so surprised, habiba. Your father isn't the only man to doll out conditional love.' His expression grew grim. 'My father was of the same ilk.'
Conditional love? Farah had never thought of it like that. Was that what her father gave? It seemed so obvious now, but always, in the past, she had thought there was something lacking in her.
A feeling of lightness came over her and she laughed. 'Why did I never think of that?'
Zach shrugged. 'Our fathers had a way of making us feel otherwise.'
Realising that Zach's father must not have approved of him, either, she leant forward. 'Are you saying you didn't see eye to eye with your father, either?'
Zach gave a short bark of laughter. 'That's putting it mildly. Nadir was always his favourite and he had little time for me as his spare.'
Farah heard the layer of pain behind that one word and her heart went out to him, not for one minute having thought that they would have something like this in common. 'And you never resented your brother for that?' Because at times she still felt guilty about her old feelings of resentment towards her unborn brother, certain that her own death would not have wrought half the pain in her father that his had.
'It wasn't Nadir's fault. My father was raised hard and he raised us hard.'
'Still, I admire that you didn't feel second-best.'
'Oh, I felt it. Often. Second-best. Third-best. I did everything to get his attention: being good, being bad, being funny, being smart, being strong... Then I realised that beating my head against a brick wall was only denting my head, not his, so I stopped. I joined the Foreign Legion, did a degree in engineering and started my own company. When I first got back to Bakaan-as you know-there was a lot to do to settle down the unrest. Then I saw how badly things had become and I did what I could behind the scenes.'
Did what he could? Farah blinked. 'It's you,' she said abruptly, instinctively knowing that he was the one who had organised the contraband goods their village-and probably others-received on a regular basis.
He smiled. 'I hope so.'
'No.' She shook her head, still dazed to think it might be true. 'You're the one who organised the medical supplies and educational material that is sent out to the villages in our area.'
He shrugged. 'I know it wasn't much, but it was all I could do while my father was alive. That will change though.'
'Thank you. That was...' She swallowed, struggling for words. For years she'd carried around a grudge against the Darkhans because she had blamed them for the loss of her mother and the happy life she had known before. She hadn't questioned the who, what or why of what had happened but had accepted her father's view and taken it on as her own. How could she have been so narrow-minded? How could she have let the past colour her view of the world so completely? 'I'm sorry. I think it was me who underestimated you this time.'
'Come here. I want to hold you.'
She unfolded shaky legs out from under her and went to him. She let him pull her down onto his lap and opened for him when he kissed her.
'You know, ever since you told me you were responsible for that publication five years ago I've been thinking about something.'
'What?'
'I want to suggest to Nadir that you become the ambassador for change in the outer regions.'
'What?' she parroted, unable to take in what he'd just offered.
'You have a sharp mind, habiba. It would be remiss of me not to utilise that. And changing years of cultural norms is not going to be easy. People will resist. They need to feel there is someone they can trust, especially since I am certain Nadir and I will be viewed sceptically at first.'
Farah chewed on the inside of her lip, her heart thumping hard at the thought. What he said made sense, and she would love it, but... 'You would let your wife work?'
'As long as it doesn't interfere with her home duties, of course.'
She felt her tentative bubble of hope burst. Here it comes, she thought, the proviso. She raised her chin. 'Such as?'
'Such as keeping our apartment spic and span, making sure my clothing is cleaned and ironed, servicing me whenever and wherever I- Oof!'
Farah punched him lightly on the shoulder, realising he was teasing her, and completely thrown by the unexpected playfulness. 'You're joking.'
He laughed deeply. 'For a non-violent person, you pack quite a punch.'
'I am usually non-violent,' she cried. 'I don't know what gets into me around you.'
The look he gave her could have heated the polar ice caps. 'I can tell you what gets into you.' His hands grew possessive, demanding. 'Me. And I have to tell you that every time you get feisty it makes me hot.'
Farah swallowed, instant arousal turning her limbs to jelly. 'Every time?'
As if knowing just how ready she was for him, he drew in a sharp breath and rose, with her still in his arms as if she were no heavier than one of the cushions they'd been seated on.
'Every time.' He strode inside and dumped her on the sofa, his hands raising her T-shirt and sliding along the sensitive skin of her belly. 'But I was serious about one of those duties.' He fingered his belt buckle. 'Want me to demonstrate?'
Feeling herself melting, and unable to contain it, she reached up and pulled him down over her. 'Maybe a little more instruction might be worthwhile.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT WAS SOME sort of loud banging that roused Zach from a sweet dream and a deep sleep. Thinking it was an alarm, he rolled over and thumped the digital clock on the bedside table. Farah stirred beside him and he automatically tightened his arm around her shoulders.
She settled deeper into the crook of his arm and he closed his eyes.
Before arriving in Ibiza, while Farah had slept on the plane, Zach had made some plans about what they would do after they had settled in. First they would explore the beaches around Talamanca Bay, then they'd fly to a little out-of-the-way Spanish restaurant he knew in Dalt Vila, maybe sail around the beautiful island of Es Vedra and watch the sunset from the popular spot nearby.
What they ended up doing was never leaving the apartment-three days in and out of bed eating takeout that was brought by his security detail and introducing Farah to trashy TV-to which his new wife was now addicted. His mouth quirked at her penchant for Doris Day movies and he made a mental note to check the guide before channel-surfing with her again. He'd tried to explain that real men didn't watch romantic movies but she'd nestled more comfortably against him and he'd shut up. And enjoyed himself.